


Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

by Lucky107



Series: Only You (And You Alone) [4]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Brainwashing, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Intimidation, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 12:51:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14737295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky107/pseuds/Lucky107
Summary: The flash of silver that catches her eye is a reflection of the dim backlight—off a badge.





	Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

Sunny’s memories of the Grandview Hotel are a blur.

The Bliss dart wreaks havoc on her senses, but she knows there are several pairs of hands, _strong_ hands, all over her body that guide her, _push_ her. She knows she’s being strapped into a chair—that the binds on her wrists are being pulled so frightfully tight that they bite into the skin.

And she knows, as her jailer leans back from his work, that the flash of silver that catches her eye is a reflection of the dim backlight— _off a badge_.

“Wait—” she pleads under her breath as the man pulls away. “Pratt… you’re Deputy Pratt…”

“Shh,” he hisses and panic flashing across his dark eyes like lightning. “She never should have sent you after me. Y-you never should have come here—”

That’s the moment when Jacob Seed enters the room.

The deputy skitters away like a timid mouse as Jacob takes his place at the front of the room. He’s powerful and domineering without saying one word, demanding the focus of his captives the way he once demanded the focus of his platoon. It would be impossible for anyone not to be swept up by the man’s presentation: his expressions are honest and he addresses an entire room with the intimacy that one might use to address a private confidant.

His voice could be a loud, echoing boom like a clap of thunder that frightens listeners into submission, but it would never be as effective as this gravelly, soft-spoken approach.

In spite of his charismatic prowess, however, Sunny barely hears a word Jacob says. Her mind wanders.

Apparently, so do her eyes.

She sneaks one too many glances towards Deputy Pratt throughout the course of the presentation that Jacob catches on to her interest early and, with each look, unravels her operation further. But he doesn’t let it show. Jacob stands at the front of the room with perfect composure in spite of his knowledge of a snake in the grass.

The light flickers during an image transition and he’s standing directly in front of her. “Now, the Collapse is upon us.”

Jacob has no qualms about leaning into Sunny’s personal space and he takes great care to maintain eye contact, unblinking, as his large hands find her forearms strapped down and _squeeze_.

Sunny squirms.

“This time the lives of the few outweigh the lives of the many—” He speaks directly to her, directly to something _inside_ of her. The beast that lies dormant within the man, just _waiting_ to be set free. “—and when a nation that’s never known hunger or desperation descends into madness, we’ll be ready.”

The way he says it, the implication of what he’s saying, sends a shiver down Sunny’s spine and she swallows thickly.

Jacob eases up on her then, as if satiated by her intimidation, but his piercing blue eyes never allow hers to wander. _That’s_ his warning, she knows, _that’s_ when he informs her that he’s got her all figured out and her stomach drops.

But it’s far too late to turn back now: the wolf is poised, with its jaws wide open, over her tender throat.

“We will cull the herd.”

The lights go out again.

 _Ziip_ , _ziiip_.

A mechanical sound echoes throughout the room, like the winding up of a child’s clockwork toy, and Sunny’s hands begin to shake terribly against their binds.

“ _We_ will do what needs to be done.”

When the light returns, Jacob is _smiling_. In his hand sits a crude wooden box that looks quite old and worn. The surface is scratched up and marked with use, but it’s the reflection off of the clockwork inside that catches Sunny’s eye as he opens it up—it’s a music box.

Delirious, she demands, “What are you—?”

But the world goes black.

 

A run at the Grandview Hotel is routine by now and that’s the only reason Eli can justify Wheaty’s presence.

It takes mere seconds for the hunters stationed out front to put the Judges down so that Eli’s team can enter through the back undetected and they move like shadows once they’re inside, following the rehearsed blueprints to a T. A quick peek into each room is all that time affords before they shuffle on down the hall.

Time is of the essence if they hope to rescue _anyone_ from this torture chamber, so when they find a room with bodies present the search must be swift.

Sometimes even sloppy.

Eli is turning the faces of long-dead corpses upward just to confirm his worst fears when Wheaty _freaks_.

“Holy _shit_ —” He whispers in surprise, followed by a loud thump. In spite of the routine nature of the job, the boy staggers towards the open window with wild eyes, afraid.

The reaction kicks Eli into an instinctual fight response, prepared for the worst. “What is it?”

Wheaty’s pointing maniacally towards a chair-bound woman in Whitetail green. A cap sporting the milita’s logo lies nearby her mess of red hair and, as Eli picks his way through the tangle of limbs and human waste, her eyelids flutter open to reveal an all too familiar shade of green.

It’s Sunny Regis.

And she’s so thoroughly saturated in Jacob Seed’s conditioning that she can’t even see him kneel down before her.

 _This_ is the single worst part of Eli’s job.

It’s one thing to come into a room and be confronted with facts: the glossy eyes of his own people, his _family_ , that he couldn’t save. He would remain haunted by those eyes for years, the weight of their burden crushing on his shoulders, but at least their fate is _definite_.

Looking down on Sunny in this pathetic state—barely alive, but still breathing nonetheless—he knows he must make a choice.

Is there enough of the original Sunny Regis left in her to be saved from the clutches of Jacob Seed or is she too far gone? There’s no way to tell how long she’s been here or how close she is to completing Jacob’s little ‘test’ just by looking at her. And he’s running out of time.

Sunny’s fate lies in _his_ hands, not Jacob’s, as Eli fingers his gun indecisively.

But the choice is made for him when Wheaty’s voice cuts into his conscience, for better or for worse. “W-we can’t just _leave_ her here, Eli, not l-like _this_.”

After losing his own boy Eli’s become soft.

 _Weak_.

He grabs for his knife instead to cut Sunny’s binds and hollers, “Walker—the truck! We’ve got a live one!”

It’s a big risk bringing Sunny back to the Wolf’s Den in her current state, but Eli can’t even entertain the idea of putting a bullet in her—not like this, not in front of Wheaty.

Eli hoists Sunny into his arms, effortlessly.

She’s weightless.

 _Starving_.

“Hang in there, kiddo,” he murmurs as he shuffles towards the door, her body limp as a rag doll. “We’re gonna get you outta here, but you’ve got to stay with me now.”


End file.
